


[WiP] “How Could I Refuse?”

by KindListener



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Training, Body Swap, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Other, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: After the events of nearly the end of the world — and in an attempt to save their hides — Crowley and Aziraphale switch bodies but, as opposed to not returning them, immediately, they take a night to utilise this new opportunity.





	[WiP] “How Could I Refuse?”

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha!! i finished a thing! it’s only the first time in, like, 6 months Q^Q

**AZIRAPHALE’S BOOK SHOP, SOUTH LONDON**  
**MID-EVENING**  
**THE DAY AFTER THE (NEAR) APOCALYPSE**

The sun set a few hours after he returned to Earth. Gabriel and the others had been a little surprised, to say the very least. The bookshop was perfect, even containing a few extra books that Aziraphale had never seen before. It was strange, being _inside_ Crowley like this. Not that he didn’t like it. He felt further off the ground and his legs were slimmer, his feet narrower, his gait more... _á la mode_. On the way home, he had stopped to pick up one of the _gâteau sablé à la banane_ and he spoke with Crowley’s tongue in his mouth... Anyway! The weight taken from around his hips and thighs made him feel bags lighter as he collapsed into his favourite chair...

Caressing the cover of the book on the coffee table, his fingertips tingle with sensation, a sensation that he never felt before. The slenderness of his chest, the narrowness of his pelvis. Crowley’s slender fingers find his chest and Aziraphale’s mind can feel the fingertips against his chest. It’s so...confusing. A soft whimper leaves him as a deep sigh and those fingers find the buttons on his waistcoat, popping them, slowly. His chest is lean and hard. Slitted eyes roll back up, into his head, as a guttural moan leaves him.  
“Oh, _Aziraphale_...” Getting used to his new voice, the angel hears his name from the demon’s lips and blood rushes through his ears, flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

He gets to his feet, shrugging off his coat and his waistcoat, before stumbling into the bedroom and looking at his visage. Beautiful, tanned flesh. Shining, chrome-plated specs. Soft, plush lips. Shakily, he removes his glasses. Vivid, yellow eyes with deep, deep pupils that Aziraphale remembers tumbling into, day after day.  
“Aziraphale.” He repeats, that long tongue curling around the syllables. “ _Fuck, Aziraphale._ ” This time it’s breathier, needier. Blood rushes down as he lets Crowley’s long, talented tongue roll out of his mouth, before pulling it back in. “My dear, Crowley! What do you do with this thing?”

Wandering back to his armchair, unbuttoning his slacks, Aziraphale groans, pushing a palm against his groin, his pelvis drawing up to meet it. That voice, breathing his name, echoes, loud and clear, in his ears, as he reaches down with slender, shaking fingers to grasp the lengthy organ. It weeps and he groans in appreciation when a globe of pre-come beads at the head. So ready. So easy to arouse.  
“Take me into your mouth, angel. Feel me on your tongue. Taste me, deep and musky. Now, let me fuck your mouth.” In liking the sound of the demon’s imaginary demands on his tongue, the ethereal being rocks against his palm, breathing shallow at the mere thought of what he’s doing.

Another finger, instinctively, snakes down to prod at his entrance. Loose, easy and so very soft. Usually, a finger would satisfy the angel and sometimes that was enough but, inside Crowley, fingers seem to do nothing. One, two, three? No, nothing. Getting on his knees, on the floor, the demon apparition presses his face to the waxed mahogany floorboards as he spits on a fist and reaches back. Push in and... It feels so full, so very full but so very delightful — even if the position left something to be desired.  
“Angel, more... Push it deeper, further. I want more.” He groans and, deep down, Aziraphale worries if Crowley’s body would remember this, once they transferred back, though, not enough to stop. The wrist seemed to be as deep as he could go in this position, even with Crowley’s nimble, slender frame.

He hears the bell of the bookshop door. He swears he locked it when he came in...maybe?

Who could it be? And _what_ would they think? The pleasant and unassuming owner of a quaint, little bookshop, in London, on his knees, in the middle of said shop, with a fist up his— Ahem.

But he isn’t the pleasant and unassuming owner. Not even close. Crowley hasn’t touched a book in...centuries. Still, there’s embarrassment and possible arrests that give the ex-angel cause for panic. A shadow appears in the doorway and the angel gasps, sounding strange and strangled in the demon’s throat...

**CROWLEY’S APARTMENT**  
**AN HOUR OR SO EARLIER**

Larger, heavier, softer. He feels like a giant teddy bear. What could Crowley want with the angel’s body? What would he do with it? What... _could_ he do with it? First, he’s hungry. With a raid through the fridge, the demon in angel’s clothing finds a few leftovers from the Chinese takeaway. Maybe some of that? He sticks it in the microwave and waits for a little while. It’s only a few days old, no harm done.

When the machine beeps, he grabs the container, a bottle of WKD from the fridge and a pair of chopsticks, sticking on some Queen and sitting down at his desk. He thinks. This soft body of his. This body that smells of fresh lavender and old books, this body that tastes of luxury tea cakes and chardonnay. With the chopsticks at his lips, he reconsiders. Junk food and alcohol. He’s subjecting his best friend’s body to that; his shitty lifestyle? No...but there _is_ something even better he can do...

The Victorian, full-length mirror that faces his bed is a perfect place to start. The blonde stands before the mirror, suddenly confident and charming. The constant worried look on his face has near disappeared. In his bedroom, lining the walls, display cabinets of whips, cuffs, floggers and riding crops. Most important, his collection of training plugs that line the shelf, at the top of the headboard. Ones from the thickness of a pencil to thicker than a wine bottle. All of these, barely used on him, let alone anyone else.

He lays, facing the mirror, slowly sliding out of Aziraphale’s ridiculous suit — that fits him awfully well. His flesh is pale and warm and all too sensitive. Running blunt nails across his perked, pink nipples yields great results, with deep, red scores appearing across his chest to the sudden shock of pleasure that flashes through him. Of course! He’s an angel. What would he do with a body as divine as this? What is he doing with Crowley’s body? Probably eating healthy or something to get the demon back on the right track to healthy living...or something.

Sliding out of his shoes, socks, pants and white briefs, Crowley gets the angel’s body, gloriously, naked before studying it. His belly is large but doesn't get in the way of much, his thighs are thick and voluptuous, his dick is shorter but thicker, his ass is thick and produces a satisfactory noise when slapped, his entrance is tight, virgin and sensitive. After a quick check, Crowley grins with the angel’s lips and retreats to his _collection_.

A few training plugs, a fleshlight, a vibrator and a bottle of lube. It would be fun, testing all these out on our poor, unassuming angel’s body, but first would be to get it hard. He lays back and turns on his phone, navigating to the last private page he was active on, on the web browser. ‘Extreme anal fisting’? _Satan_ , no. Gay porn? Nothing. _Straight_ porn? Still nothing — thank Satan. What? Is the angel broken?! Then, an idea. He prowls toward the mirror on all fours, that innocent look creeping back into his features.  
“... Crowley.” He murmurs and something inside him stirs. His name sounds delicious on the angel’s tongue. All hesitant and nervous, he displays himself, opening his thighs and presenting his pink, virgin hole to the demon’s hungry, _hungry_ eyes. “Please, Crowley...” He moans, slicking a digit with lube and pushing it in. It’s tight and hot, just as he imagined. “Please, Crowley, I need your mouth on me...” He pleads to himself, his name stimulating the angel.

The rain patters on the windowsill as Crowley takes advantage of his best friend’s body, soft and tender and sweet.  
“I want you to taste me, _Crowley_.” His lips make the demon’s name sound like music. His fist curls around his shaft, pumping it, slowly, as his other hand works open his hole, scissoring two fingers in the entrance. In a moment, he slips in a third to share the moisture and his other hand moves faster, jerking up and down the angel’s thick cock. He jolts with pleasure. “Fuck! Crowley, yes!” Closer and closer to completion and his moans sound like hymns. When a forth finger slides into his hole, Aziraphale’s body spasms and his balls grow taut as he climaxes, come spurting into his fist, over his fingers. Still, the hand keeps going, pushing him further and further, making him come again and again until he’s spent. His plush hips and thick fingers are covered in the angel’s sweet ejaculate. Lapping it up, Crowley removes his fingers and cleans up. The best orgasm Crowley’s had in decades and he has to seek out more.

**AZIRAPHALE’S BOOK SHOP, SOUTH LONDON**  
**PRESENT**

The lightning makes him seem intimidating but the figure clicks his fingers and the doors shut and lock.  
“Angel. I only came for my body back.” Crowley, as Aziraphale, states in faux shock as Aziraphale, as Crowley, goes red in the face and collapses to the floor. Seeing Crowley’s body all spread out and all so needy makes Aziraphale’s body hot and bothered, in an instant but Crowley covered it, immediately.  
“... Y-Yes!! Speaking of _your_ body, I knew about the junk food and the drinking but you never told me about...this. I never— What did—” Aziraphale holds out his hand, expectantly, and they dissolve back into their bodies.

“What?” Crowley, now himself, asks.  
“Your— Your— Your...behind.” Aziraphale, now himself, bear whispers.  
“Didn’t it feel good?” He slumps back into Aziraphale’s armchair, not worried about his nakedness or the impressive erection he’s, currently, sporting.  
“Well, yes, but—!” An eyebrow raises as the demon offers a spot, on the floor, to the angel.  
“Let me show you, angel.” Aziraphale, stripping out of his suit, unceremoniously, settles on the floor.  
“H-How do you...want me?”  
“Every way imaginable, Aziraphale.” Crowley growls, sinking to his knees and pushing the angel’s face to the floor, ass in the air, knees parted for him to sit between them and his back arched to allow easier access.

Holding the angel open, he spits into his palm, slicking up a couple fingers before, gently, pushing them into Aziraphale.  
“Ow! Crowley, that’s— _Mmnn_... That’s actually...really good...” He groans, feeling the angel’s inner muscles flex and twitch around him. He eases them in and out, scissoring them in the way that felt so good, earlier.  
“That’s the point but wait until you feel this, angel.” Long, talented fingers find Aziraphale’s prostate, near immediately, and it makes the angel see stars. He reaches climax, his cock untouched.  
“Oh, oh, oh! Crowley, I’m— Oh, my...” He squeals and whines, nails clawing at the floorboards as the demon stimulates him, again...and again and again and... The angel’s knees buckle and he collapses with a thud, a moaning, gibberish wreck. “Oh, Crowley... Yes... So good... I want you inside me...” He pleads but Crowley just turns him onto his back, grasping his own erection, painfully, hard from watching Aziraphale come so many times.  
“Not tonight, my angel.” Comes his breathy reply as he drinks in the sight of the blonde’s beautiful form, writhing in erotic agony, on the floor of his beloved bookshop. “But still...I can’t wait to feel you...” The mere thought of pushing into Aziraphale and bringing him to this state pushes him over the edge and he growls out a name; _Aziraphale_. Come lands all over the angel’s chest, belly and groin, drenching him in the demon’s fluids until he’s milked dry.

They both pant, gulping down air as they try to steady their heartbeats.  
“... Crowley, that was...”  
“... I thought it was rather good...”  
“Y... Yes, I think so, too.”  
“Next time, I’ll have to show you how much I can fit back there. It helps to have a pair of helping hands and I hear you, angels, are all about helping.” Crowley helps his...friend(?) off the floor and into his bedroom, upstairs, above the bookshop. He wipes them down, tucks him into bed, turns off the light and turns to leave.  
“Umm... Crowley?”  
“Yes?” Though turned away from the angel, one could, still, not hear the slight hopefulness in his voice.  
“Care to stay the night? No use driving home in this weather.”

_“How could I refuse?” ___

____

 

* * *

 

 

**THE RITZ**  
**LATE AFTERNOON**  
**A WEEK AFTER ARMAGEDDON**

"Come, now, Crowley." Aziraphale chuckles and Crowley does remember. Boy, does he remember. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, since that night. It was only a week or so ago. They haven't spoke about it, or the morning after, since. In fact, Aziraphale had been, happily, avoiding the subject until Crowley had to, rudely, interrupt him.  
"Yeah. You liked it." He explains, bluntly, and the angel winces.

The Ritz is busy, bustling with high-class toffs, parading their money around, and low-class posers, scraping to impress. Amongst the fog of the people, one can see the demon lean round the table to whisper in Aziraphale's ear.  
"What if I could make love to you in the sweetest of ways? Lay you down, kiss your cheek, your lips, your neck. Unbutton your shirt and pull you free. You would whine and hiss with my tongue. I could descend further, your body would buckle with my bones and you could feel with my skin." Just that leaves the angel shaking and, unconsciously, bouncing his leg in anticipation.

"Or you could bend me over the dining room table — right here, right now — and show all the lovely patrons what you think I'm really like. Slap me across the face and then taste the blood in my mouth. Bite my tongue and taste the iron. Burn a brand into my skin and smell my flesh burning. Lick me, bite me, suck me to my wits end and then leave me for hours, unable to tend to myself. You would view yourself through my eyes, how radiant you are but how easy your skin marks and how addicting it can be; seeing dark marks or purple bruises blossoming across your cheekbone and across your ribs. You could fuck my face, quick and easy, holding onto your soft, blonde hair as anchorage, and use me for your own self validation." Slipping a hand under the dining table, Crowley can feel Aziraphale thickening in his trousers. He's sweating and flushed.  
"... Your place or mine?" He asks, breathlessly, swallowing a lump in his throat...

Crowley loves being Aziraphale, his movements slow but majestic. For Crowley, Aziraphale got the demon stamp of ‘twink’. He was soft, cute, chubby and pale. Most twinks tend to be that way, as far as his research has gone. He had asked Aziraphale (as Crowley) to wait outside his bedroom for a moment while he positioned himself just right and laid out some necessary equipment.  
“Come in.” Comes his sing-song tone and Crowley storms in to see the angel’s body all delicately bound into a complicated position where everything was on display but the only things flexible were his neck, crotch and ass. Crowley’s dick may as well have had a cartoon sound effect, it goes up so fast.  
“How did you manage to do this?” He asks and the demon speaks with the angel’s tongue.  
“Magic.” Licking his lips, Crowley’s hands grab at the angel’s flesh, lips kissing the angel’s shoulder blades, palms striking his tender behind, making the angel flinch and whine. “Please, use the crop.” Big mistake.

Strikes start at his ankles and, slowly, work up the back of his calves and thighs before it hits his behind.  
“You’re so sensitive.” Crowley, in Aziraphale’s body, groans.“ That’s half the fun, though. Ow!” Another slap lands and Aziraphale, as Crowley, thinks he might begin to enjoy the whole _pitchforks and torches_ deal.

**Author's Note:**

> note: please read this great sum up of the relationship here (https://www.radiotimes.com/news/on-demand/2019-05-31/good-omens-tv-adaptation-are-crowley-and-aziraphale-in-love/). Radio Times asks the question; ‘are Crowley and Aziraphale in love?’ Well...yes.
> 
> Copyright © 2019 by Charlie E. Drake  
> All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.


End file.
